Curses, Shadows, and Roses
by Watashi-wa-inori-tsuzukeru
Summary: I'll tell ya a fun lil' story, dearie. It's a fun lil' story 'bout a sort-of boy and a sort-of girl. Well, a'right, they're a boy an' a girl for sure; but they're a special sort. Ya see, the boy's a tad bit, er...pointy. And furry. And demon-y. And the girl's a tad bit pointy too, but wi' more bite. And more fur. But she's not demon-y. She's wolfy. Oh, forget it! Jus' listen, dear.


**A/N: **'ello there, and welcome to the story of my Worgen being a Worgen being a Warlock. Fun times with Gilnean speak (read: old timey English) and sassiness abound. Apologies now to any good British/English/Scottish/Waleish (welsh?)/various other subdivisions of Great Britain/England this American is lacking information on, because I'm just gonna have fun with this...and it's probably going to be awful. Because 'murican. So yea.

Song for basically this entire fic if it isn't obvious by reading: Check Yes Juliet by We the Kings

Enjoy!

* * *

It was raining.

The day I became a monster, I mean. It was raining. Not unusual to me, really, since it rained a lot in Gilneas; but it's just something I remember vividly.

There were gray skies stretching all across the horizon, heavy clouds weeping water, and the occasional streak of white lightning spearing the ground. My cloth robes had clung to me uncomfortably, weighed down with rain. My hair was absolutely plastered to my skin. It was hard to hold onto my staff because the water made the polished wood so slick.

The worst thing though had to be the way it dripped into my ears. I'd always hated water in my ears; but it was much worse now because the blasted huge things had become _bowls_. The instinct to flatten them was there—and bloody wonderful, that—but when I got excited or agitated they'd stick up straighter than a king's bloody top hat.

Oh, the ears? What about them? Yes, I already had them, what did you think I was talkin' abou—

Oh. _Oh. _You thought I was gabbin' about the day I turned into a Worgen, huh? No, that's not it, you bugger. My Beast isn't a monster. Becomin' a Worgen wasn't me turning into a monster. People kept on sayin' that…calling me a monster and sayin' I hadn' had any humanity anymore; but they didn't know any better.

I was already a monster on the inside long before Gilneas—bless her—fell. I'm talking about the day I really became a monster, through an' through, inside and out. Just not the wolfy part. I actually liked that part.

I'm talking about the day I met the satyr in the forests of Darkshore. The day I made a pact I couldn't handle. A pact that changed _everything. _

Don't go getting' me wrong now, dearie. I've made plenty of demon pacts before. It's my blasted _specialty. _Didn't I mention that? Thought I did. Well, there you go. Juliette Lynn Havenspell, Warlock and Demonologist, Worgen and damned proud Gilnean, at your service. There now, mate. Introductions all in order? Good. Now back to it, then.

Xaxzin. That's his name. The satyr. I met him that day, in the forest. In the rain, we made a pact. Blood was mixed, oaths taken. I remember specifically that I thought it was kind of nice standing next to him as we Bonded because he was the first person I'd been near that was taller than me since I Changed. I was already pretty tall for a Human woman at nearly six feet. As a Worgen—a lady one—I stand taller than everyone else, except the occasional male Worgen or Draenei. I think I'm over eight feet tall, but I haven't bothered to measure…Anyways, Xaxzin was taller than me, and I liked it. It was familiar. Normal. Or what had been normal.

I like my new normal better, now. But that's later in the story, eh love?

I remember his smile too; because it was the first time I saw it. I mean, I've seen plenty of his smiles since then but that was the first so it's specialer.

Is that a word? No? Well, blast, it's my word now. _Specialer. _Old lady Rinewald can roll over in her grave all she bloody likes. Woman was an awful school teacher. She took my grimoire once for perusing it in class instead of writing my calligraphy—which is now bloody pointless because I can't even hold a pen properly anymore, what with my _paws_ being too big for the feathers and twigs everybody writes with.

Oh, I'm digressing again. To the void with it. I'll digress all I want. It's _my _story.

Or, well, my story and his story. Me and Xaxzin's. Although Nalbis, Huknagma, Cattneth, Khathamon, and Skurikshak are all in it and important too. So it's more like _our _story.

Who are all they? They're my demons, ya thickheaded sot! They're my friends, and my family, if I'm honest. Which I'm usually not. So this whole tale is sort of an exception. Or maybe a catharsis. Either way.

So. That day. I made a pact. I became a well and true monster.

Why then? How was this any different than being a demon-loving practitioner of the dark arts or a bestial, cursed wolf creature? That's simple!

I really was a monster then because I accepted it. I didn't hide it. I wore it on my bloody sleeve—or went about my business with it at my side, as it were. That was the day I stopped caring about a damned thing anyone else thought and invested in what I wanted instead.

There's this point when people become dangerous: it's when they're not afraid anymore. They're limitless, then. It's like ripping the chains off your wrists. Freedom. Once you reach that zenith, you're omnipotent.

Who can stop you if you've stopped stopping yourself? Answer me that, dearie.

No inhibition. That's what a real monstrosity has. Xaxzin gave me that. I remember his words exactly. This is what he told me: "Run, sweetheart. Run and never look back.'"

So I did. I took his hand and ran; and I ran _free. _

Settle in, hun. It's a good story.


End file.
